The Three Queens
by arielfab
Summary: The War of the Five Kings is over, and the Three Queens reign over Westeros: Daenerys, the Unburnt; Arya, the Unbeaten; and Myrcella, the Unblemished. But even as the queens settle into their rule, whispers of a revolt threaten the peace they've worked so hard to make.


The Three Queens

The first was Daenerys Stormborn of the House of Targaryen, the Unburnt, the Mother of Dragons, the khaleesi, beloved and feared. Once, long ago when the Red Star streaked the sky, Daenerys had said there were three heads to the dragon. Ser Jorah had once been certain it meant Dany and two husbands, and him as the first. But he was wrong, so wrong. Hadn't they heard it in the words? Valar morghullis. All men must die. But they were not men.

The common people loved Queen Daenerys, the queen of fire for her dragons and ice for her hair — the silvery white that marked her as the last Targaryen. A wise old man once said half the Targaryen kings were mad, while half were good and just. Viserys had been mad, and he had been nothing more than a poor shadow of a king. The singers had already written songs of the she-dragon who flew across foreign lands and freed the slaves, melting their chains with her fiery breath. She brought them with her, here to Westeros. While Queen Daenerys was pleased by the knowledge her enemies feared her, it was better, so much better, to know her people loved her. She'd had a love-starved childhood. Her sun-and-stars was taken too soon from her. But the freedmen were hers, heart and soul.

The lords and ladies, it can be said, were not always as pleased with their mother of dragons. Daenerys was not one to compromise, but preferred commands. While she welcomed council, her years of leadership and rising star had convinced the headstrong Stormborn that while others may have opinions, hers was the way. While Daenerys had packed away her painted vests in Dragonstone, the ladies would sometimes notice a hint of something … unusual about her dress. A flavoring of something barbaric, other-wordly. And there would always be something unsettling about having dragons about while you supped.

The Queen in the North, of course, was a Stark. Arya, the Just. The Unbeaten. The Laughing Queen. If there was a battle, Queen Arya was leading the charge, any man could be sure. She had studied with the best swordsmasters Braavos had to offer, the men who taught Syrio himself. She had traveled to the edges of the world to study with men of renowned abilities.

But she always came home. Like Queen Dany, too much of Arya's life during the War of Kings had been away from Winterfell, and too much had happened when her family wasn't safe behind its walls. The war had cost her both her parents. Robb, the greatest King in the North there ever would have been. Arya knew, she just knew. But now she ruled in his place, though not quite the way Robb had planned on ruling. She simply ruled from Winterfell, as Queen Daenerys ruled from Dragonstone. When it was called for, for formal occasions or to rule on a great matter, the three queens would travel to King's Landing, although they were known to linger there for months, enjoying their time together as one complete court. But home would call them back eventually, and the beauty of the Age of Gold was that they could follow its call. Queen Arya always yearned to see her brothers. Sansa was a lady of her court and went with Arya, unless she was home with Lord Hardyng and the children in their windy castle far away. But most of the time, Arya preferred having Sansa with her, and the children too. It was like keeping a piece of Winterfell with her always, a piece of their mother and father. Arya was always telling Sansa to bring the children to court, but her older sister would purse her lips, furrowing her eyebrow ever so daintly and shaking her head. Arya knew why Sansa didn't think children should be in court, even a safe, merry court like theirs. So she didn't press the issue. But it was strange when her sister wasn't there, as if a void followed her around, and she laughed a little less. After too long, her heart would ache and back to Winterfell they would go.

Her betrothed went with her, of course. But he had little patience for all the "frills and nonsense" that went with court. Arya had just as little patience, deep down, but she, at least, knew this was how it had to be. Gendry, meanwhile, had only been to their court. He'd never seen it the other way, which Arya tried to convince him had been even worse. If Gendry thought the gossiping and plotting were bad in these golden days, Arya laughed to think how he would have felt living under Cersei and Joffrey's thumbs. Still, theirs was a hearty court, full of bawdy songs and happy people.

With Queen Arya unconcerned with social graces and Queen Daenerys's unfortunate fondness for her savages, it was little wonder Queen Myrcella was known as the Queen of Grace. She had grown into a beauty like her mother, but while Cersei's hard, bright features were loud, on her daughter, they were refined. Softened. Myrcella the Just had some air of pure grace that her mother never had. It gave the people a reason to love her, when she clasped their hands and her eyes welled up prettily. She was the Golden Princess, the Gentle Lioness. The Unblemished. Of Cersei's three children, there could be no doubt Myrcella was the best. She was the best Lannister since … well, no one could really recall the last great, good Lannister. But somehow, amid Joffrey's wickedness and Tommen's plump ineptitude, her elder brother's refusal to listen to anyone and her baby brother's inability to make a single decision on his own was a girl who was sweet but sure, kind but righteous.

Her family tree had been hacked to bits, it could not be denied. Nearly all the Barratheons were dead — only King Stannis' ugly daughter remained. Of course, old gossips would whisper that Myrcella's claim to the stag's bloodline had been questioned in the past. But there was doubt cast on each queen's claim - all three had about the same right to the throne, give or take. Each could be seen as better than the other's, depending on the light. That was what united them - the knowledge that no one claim could be called the true heir alone.

It was a new idea. Actually, it was many new ideas for Westeros, but somehow they made it work. It helped, of course, that Queen Daenerys had diluted the well with her foreigners, who always believed their Mother of Dragons knew best. Having three of them helped, too. A single woman had not ruled Westeros in ages. There were more than a few who believed a man was needed for the job, a man with his courage bared, his decisions quick and sure, and his ruling fair and just. But having three queens from three different Westeros houses perhaps made for an even better crown, for no decision was made without input from one another. Queen Dany, the fiercest, was always concerned with maintaining their power while still treating her people with kindness. She wanted to save all of them, every starving, dying plebian. They were her children, and she loved them.

Queen Arya was raised by Ned Stark, whose belief in truth and justice was his doom. But his children had that same stubborn dedication to doing what was right, and Queen Arya was just the same. She was the least serious of the Three Queens - her loud, unabashed laughter rang through the halls of the castle more often than not. But when justice was at hand, Arya would grow as serious as her father, her brow furrowing in a way that recalled old King Robert's Hand.

Each woman alone, in the beginning, seemed more unlikely than the next to take the crown and rule the kingdom. Daenerys had grown up in exile, without a home or an army to her name. The last of the Targaryens. Everyone thought Arya dead for years. Myrcella had two brothers, and both took the throne before she did. The three of them together seemed the most unlikely of all - a Targaryen, a Stark and a Lannister. Born enemies.

But the women were not their elders, that much was clear. They had the fateful sense that they would have a stronger claim together, and that was what made them great.

The War of Kings was in the past. The Queens ruled, and all was well.


End file.
